


Shining Little Stars

by MurderCake



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Smallville
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, F/M, Future Fic, Genderbend, Kid Fic, Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 19:54:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16541135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurderCake/pseuds/MurderCake
Summary: Claire Kent disappeared from Smallville the day Lex Luthor's jet crashed into the ocean. Aside from a single letter, Lex hasn't heard from Claire since - despite their years as best friends and, for a short time, much more. He has no idea where she went or why she left. That is, until his father recalls him from his position in Hong Kong. It's been five years since he's come home to Metropolis and the first thing he learns is that Claire is in Gotham City and engaged to Bruce Wayne.Lionel wants the engagement broken in order to damage their rival, Wayne Enterprises. A public affair with an ex-lover should do nicely. Lex must choose between following his father's edict or allowing the only woman he's ever really loved to find happiness. He doesn't want to dig up the past but the last five years have made Lex willing to sacrifice almost anything for succcess.Claire has even more secrets than when she left Smallville. Secrets she would die to protect, no matter how she feels about Lex. Bruce is her partner and knows everything, including the deep connection Lex and Claire share. But Bruce won't allow anyone to threaten his family. And make no mistake, the man Lex has become is a threat.





	Shining Little Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Typical genderbend AU but I've also shifted the ages for reasons I can't remember now ¯\\(°_o)/¯ S1 and 2 happened but were stretched out to accomodate certain events. Lex was 19 when he hit Claire on the bridge. She was 14. Lex was 22 when the plane crashed. If you consider 16 to be underage, then this is your warning.

⬦◆|◆⬦

Enrique rapped on the door before he opened it and asked gently, “Sir?” His consideration earned him a grunt and a pillow striking him with surprising accuracy, considering it had been thrown backhand from the middle of the bed. Undeterred, and frankly quite used to certain behaviors, he continued, “Your father has entered the building. He’ll reach the elevator momentarily.” Enrique himself was in a dressing gown and slippers he’d hastily donned after being alerted by security.

Next came a deep groan and then the bed covers were thrown back and a very nude Lex Luthor, the much vaunted and vilified scion of Metropolis, lurched from his bed flushed and wrinkled and staggered towards the en suite, “For fucks sake, I haven’t been in the country more than thirty-six hours. Can’t the old goat give me a day to catch up to the time difference?”

His employer was addressing himself so Enrique simply entered and quickly gathered clothes from the cavernous closet that had thankfully been delivered before they returned to the States. With deft motions he gathered underclothes, shirt, pants and (forgoing tie and jacket for such an informal meeting) shoes which he began handing over immediately as the younger Mr. Luthor emerged looking slightly more awake and smelling of mint. “Cook has been alerted. How shall she proceed?”

“Coffee. Make mine a double shot and his decaf. Nothing else, he can get his own damn breakfast,” the man grumbled as he stumbled into his briefs. Enrique judged the man competent enough and draped the remaining pieces on the bed before making his exit. Some days were better than others but any Lex Luthor that had to speak before his morning coffee was a bear driven from his den. The fact that he was still on Hong Kong time and about to face off with his father made him all the more volatile.

Luckily, Mr. Luthor values loyalty and as such most of his personal staff been with him before his move overseas. They were all used to maintaining maximum efficiency despite unusual circumstances (Smallville was a gauntlet of which only a few survived but those who did came through stronger). He himself dressed in haste not for the first time this week.

And so minutes later, the illustrious Lionel Luthor, one of the wealthiest men in the world and Metropolis’s premier citizen, strode into the foyer like a conquering general. Lex Luthor, perfectly dressed and pleasant, strolled leisurely to meet him, “Dad, I wasn’t expecting you for at least a week. I thought you were in talks in Venezuela.”

“Negotiations wrapped up early. I was eager to see you after so long, son. It’s been more than a year, I think,” He made no move to embrace his son, nor even to take his hand. “You’ve gained weight,” Lionel Luthor cocked his head to the side, thick hair swinging in direct contrast to his son’s stark baldness. It was true, though the gains had been in muscle as Lex Luthor took to martial arts training with the same dedication and intensity he had used when managing his father’s overseas empire. Enrique was almost certain that the silver-threaded beard and thick jacket were hiding a leanness that would have accentuated the senior Luthor’s advanced age.

“Possibly, I’ve been too busy to really keep track. Coffee? I was just about to have some on the balcony.” It had been some time since that voice had been heard, its airy carelessness seemed reserved for only one man.

Enrique stood just outside the doors to the balcony and relaxed his posture until he was needed. Until then, he was content to listen as the genius of a man he served sparred verbally with his father. The father was unaware of just how sharp his son’s claws had become while exiled to Asia. He was looking forward to the moment when Lex Luthor finally struck back after taking so many blows, both physical and metaphorical, from Lionel Luthor during his tenure.

◥LL◤

Lionel sat with a flip of his long coat like he was seating himself in a throne while Lex lowered himself smoothly. The crisp, dry autumn air was invigorating enough to help wake him further while it seemed to make his father uncomfortable enough to wrap both hands around the mug. _Arthritis_ , a part of his mind noted. He had been working so much these past years that he’d hardly given the reports on his father more than a passing glance. In a way, it hurt to see the man in physical decline but only a small sliver of himself acknowledged it. The rest was vindictively thrilled to see evidence of surpassing his father in all areas, especially physically. His mind was always taking at least a dozen distinct and separate paths at once, so he let one imagine engaging in one of their old fencing matches and savored the fantasy while the majority of his focus stayed on the balcony and listened to what the _old_ old man had to say.

“As good as it is to see you, Lex, I didn’t recall you for my own pleasure. I need you to start working. Today,” he sipped his coffee and grimaced, putting it aside. Cook always had hated his father, he’d nearly forgotten that. His own cup was smooth as silk and darkly bitter in just the right way.

“I was curious about what’s so important. The Wan Qui deal was at a critical stage. I have a lot of confidence in my people, especially James and Ms. Li, but passing it off to a subordinate could be seen as an insult to Mr. Han.” Actually, the deal was already done, the only things left to work out were the kickbacks to the party members. Li was more than capable of paying off some greedy government hounds. It was his own dealings with the Triad about his ‘exports’ for the next quarter that had been interrupted. Luckily they, of all people, understood that being called home by his father was an unavoidable commitment. Though it lost him some face with the older members, it would take effort to repair that.

“I take it you haven’t read the paper this morning,” Lionel knew he hadn’t. It was six am, the sun was barely over the horizon, and he’d been on a plane this time yesterday after spending five years in a time zone almost perfectly opposite from Metropolis. But he’d learned many things during his years away and one of them was to stop trying to meet his father on whatever grand stage he’d placed himself on. Lex simply rose his brows and waited for Lionel to enact whatever theatrics he’d come here to perform. As expected, a folded paper was pulled from inside the coat and tossed across the table. How dramatic.

Except, he hadn’t been prepared for what he saw when he unfolded society section of the Planet. The picture took up half the page and had been printed on glossy paper reserved for special editions. He didn’t have the control at that moment to school his expression, he was using it all to keep himself from doing something drastic - like throwing his cup off the side of the building or killing his father. Whatever Lionel saw, it amused him enough to draw a dark chuckle from him. “I take it you haven’t kept in touch,” the fucker never could resist twisting the knife.

Looking up at him from a six by four glossy photo was Bruce Wayne, old friend and new competitor, with his arm around his newly announce fiancée. Bruce looked good, black hair swept back in the latest fashion and his tux striking despite the ridiculous rose pink shirt it had been paired with. The woman next to him was in red gown, tonally coordinating the two of them and riding the cutting edge of the latest fashion trends this season. Her pale blonde hair had been pulled back and away from her face into an intricate updo, highlighting the sharpness of her cheekbones and long, thin neck. Despite the years between and some considerable weight loss, Claire still looked as painfully beautiful as she had in Smallville. She was turned towards Bruce as if he’d said something and the soft smile on her face cut deep into a place he hadn’t known still existed.

He forced himself to look up (never take your eyes off of a predator for longer than you need to) and Lionel’s eyes were narrowed in a way that made normal men fidget and want to confess their sins. Lex swallowed a gup of scalding coffee to wet his dry mouth and managed a damn good approximation of casual, “’Gotham’s Prince Finds His Princess’. It’s a good headline but I fail to see what it has to do with me.” Redirect, redirect, redirect. “I haven’t spoken to Bruce or Claire in years. Unless this is about finding me a bride, which is a matter I thought we’d settled after Helen.”

Yes, Helen, otherwise known as THAT BITCH in his head. She’d been one of his father’s under cover minions and had won his heart, or at least he could have been happy with her. But she’d been so stupid that she’d tried to kill him on their honeymoon, as if he’d hand over the keys to the future of the Luthor Empire to someone he’d married literally days ago. What followed was a portion of his life he was fairly successful in blocking out.

When he returned to civilization, he’d spent a grand total of a week recuperating in Metropolis before acquiescing to his father’s suggestion to learn the family business from the ground up. Lex thought he could use the distraction while regaining his footing on familiar (safe) ground. But then he’d found himself on a plane the next day. In five years, he’d risen from director to executive to current Vice President of Acquisitions – East Asia. Or at least he had been until a few days ago when Lionel’s summons had forced him to hand over everything to his two Assistant VPs.

His father had actually admitted to the mistake of putting Helen in Lex’s path. But as of the last time they spoke about the subject, still insisted he was ‘saving’ Lex from himself. Those circumstances had almost been entirely blocked out until his father handed him a paper that shattered all of his previously held assumptions.

“This has everything to do with you. We both know why Claire disappeared from Smallville. According to my people, once she resurfaced, she hasn’t been back for more than a visit since. If I were to guess: Jonathan Kent has just as much of a problem with Wayne money as he does Luthor.” Lionel leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs at the ankle. He was holding court and Lex couldn’t deny it to him because he’d purposely stopped looking for Claire. He had no idea about anything regarding her current life or how she’d become involved with Bruce. Regret tried to suffuse him but he forced it back ruthlessly, he’d forged a new path for himself that he never could have if he’d reconnected with her.

Anger bubbled up next and he embraced it, though his voice remained calm, “What exactly are you suggesting? That I rekindle our friendship for leverage? Even if Wayne Enterprises didn’t have an unofficial policy against working with us, it makes more sense to try with Bruce directly: our history is less problematic.” ‘Problematic’ was such a dry, sanitized word for the tangle of emotion regarding Claire Kent that it nauseated him. He put his cup down and was glad for it when his father spoke next.

“Wayne's stock is up more than ten percent this morning and rising. My people tell me it’s not a temporary bump, Wayne’s antics during his bachelorhood was holding back the company more than anyone knew. Now that he’s become a father and is settling down, confidence in the company is soaring. Added to the recent announcements from their new clean energy division, their stock could rise to fifty percent higher than ours.”

Lionel was still talking but Lex was barely paying attention. All he could hear was “Bruce” and “father” and the maelstrom in his mind sent words to his mouth before he could stop them, “That’s impossible. Claire can’t have children.” His mind wouldn’t stop assailing him with memories he thought he’d locked away long ago. Memories of skin and sweat and the kind of bone deep comfort he hadn’t found since.

For once, Lionel didn’t seem to mind being interrupted. In fact, he was visibly amused. He stood, and Lex followed out of dazed, automatic courtesy. Lionel stepped closer and brushed his hands across Lex’s shoulders as if straightening his shirt but his eyes roamed and judged like appraising horseflesh. “I know this must be a shock, but prove to me that you can do this and the Vice Presidency of Acquisitions North America is yours.” Lex opened his mouth to ask questions but Lionel over road him, “Read the article; my assistant should have a file couriered over within the hour. I understand it’s going to be difficult, so I’ll give you a month to show me progress.” Then he stepped back and turned to leave.

Lex just managed to wade his way through the hundreds of thoughts his mind was swirling with to latch on to something vital, “Wait, what ‘progress’? What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Lionel turned back and despite his years, the light that shown in his dark eyes was as dangerous as ever, “I want you stop the marriage obviously. But if you’d rather I say it out loud, then so be it: have an affair with the girl, or with Wayne, or both. I don’t care how you go about it. Wayne Enterprises is our enemy and they cannot be allowed to succeed. A month, I want a report by then or earlier.” And then he was gone.

Lex didn’t know how long he stood there. Enrique came and went with a jacket against the cold breeze coming off the bay, Cook brought a tray and took away the earlier one, but still he stood stock still, breathing deeply and even as his teachers had shown him until he was certain that he wasn’t going to snap and commit murder. Patricide specifically. By the time he settled back into his seat, he’d needed a napkin to wipe the blood from his nails cutting into his palms. But as the blood came away, the cuts were already healing so he ignored them.

An affair. His father wanted him to break up a marriage over stock prices, no matter the personal cost. Not that he’d expected his father to care about the welfare of a competitor, but he could at least be concerned about his son. Becoming involved with Claire was one of his closest kept secrets and deepest regrets. His father had still learned of it somehow and intervened in his own way: using threats and Helen to tear them apart. At sixteen and twenty-one, respectively, their relationship had been legal but, as Lionel had explained in detail, morally reprehensible and socially impossible. Even if they had managed to keep their relationship a secret until she’d at least gone away to college the next year, they had no future as farmer’s daughter and billionaire’s son. Lex had held onto that declaration as truth in the face of the kind of punishments his father threatened to enact if he didn’t break it off.

But as he picked up the paper again with shaking hands, he realized how young he’d been. Claire may have been adopted by farmers, but one of them was the daughter of Metropolis’s high society and her birth parents could have been anyone. She’d been impossibly generous, kind, forgiving and beautiful, even as a teenager. Despite sharing a similar extraordinary intellect, at her age he’d been drug using and dealing while handing out sexual favors like candy. She’d been volunteering, helping to run multiple small family businesses, publishing articles and teaching the local millionaire playboy the meaning of friendship and… fuck it, yes, love.

Lionel had been wrong. She was exactly the kind of woman to marry into the highest levels of society. Just not to Lex. Bruce - angry, brooding Bruce who had grown into a vapid, irresponsible man - had been braver. Or freer, perhaps, without parents to disapprove of such a mismatch. There was another photo, showing Bruce and Claire in tux and gown standing behind three children in their own miniature finery. Bruce had discovered he had a son last year, aged ten now according to the article, and Claire was bringing her own children, twins aged four, to the marriage.

He was crumpling the edges of the paper but he couldn’t stop. Bruce had conceived a child at nineteen, the age Lex had been when he’d met Claire. And she’d been wrong, her meteor mutation didn’t render her sterile as his own had. She’d had children a year after leaving Smallville without a trace.

He’d had to vomit in a planter before he could finish the article. It was written by Cat Grant, usually known for her scathing celebrity gossip, yet this article was syrupy in its description of a love match across all social barriers. Apparently, Bruce had met Claire three years ago and the two had “instantly found a connection” as she quotes Bruce. He’s described as ‘smitten’ and ‘devoted’ since he’d never been seen with another woman after escorting Claire to their ‘first date’ at the ballet. A picture from the event was on the next page with an eighteen year old Claire perfectly in place on Bruce’s arm, completely at ease surrounded by the kind of old money and blue bloods even his father was unwelcome among.

Claire’s short biography showed what he’d always hoped: she’d done well for herself. She’d attended an online college and then Gotham University and graduated last year with a Masters in molecular biology and biochemistry concurrently. She currently works as a scientist in a company she’d founded herself during college: Roshanak Innovations. It was apparently a very successful medical research and technology company, but the name twisted his gut once again. There was no way that it was a coincidence. ‘Roshanak’ was the Persian spelling of Roxana, Alexander the Great’s wife. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

The rest of the article was speculation about the ceremony taking place next spring so he dropped it and found himself yelling for Enrique and tearing through one of the penthouse’s safes until he located a small, metal box among his comics collection. It was his St. George box and held three things: his watch with the Napoleonic coin face; a photo of his mother, himself and newborn Julian; and a letter, much folded and boxed around the edges.

He sat back on the floor and braced himself as he unfolded it for yet another time and read:

_Dearest Lex,_

_I can’t express in words how it feels to learn you’ve once again come back from the dead. This makes three that I’m aware of (though Toby keeps a different count I think) and so perhaps I deserve less credit for the accident than you gave me. As you said once: Smallville’s curse occasionally offers a blessing as well._

_I’ve left Smallville, if you didn’t know, and I doubt I’ll be returning any time soon. I have a new life now. It’s… different. I wish I could tell you about it. There is so much happening here, both mundane and incredible; of anyone, you would be the most interested to know the things that I am experiencing. In fact, before today, I spoke to you often as if you were here. Some things haven’t changed, you are and was always my balm against the pain of isolation and my own strangeness. I miss you. I don’t know if that is something you wish to know, but it’s the truth. It will always be the truth, though the distance and your resurrection has made it bearable finally._

_I’m sorry to hear about the circumstances of your near-death. Despite how we parted, I truly wanted happiness for you. I wanted to be a part of that happiness, but such is the greediness of children. I feel as though I’ve aged a hundred years since we last spoke and I can hardly face my selfishness. It pains me that our last conversation was so acrimonious. If you can stand to hear it: I am sorry. That is something else that will always be true._

_There is more that I wish to say and more that you deserve to hear, but circumstances have changed for both of us. You are moving towards your chosen destiny and so am I. I know you will succeed in whatever you choose to set your mind and will towards. For myself, I have duties and responsibilities of which I had never imagined for myself. There is great happiness and sorrow in equal measure. I had not known the true meaning of ‘difficult’ until now but I have made my choice and must see it through._

_I have not told anyone, including my parents, where I have gone. I suspect you will know the reason sometime in the future, but for now I must protect myself and say only that I am safe and not terribly unwell. I have told my parents that I did not leave only because I was saddened by your ‘death’ (though only you know the full extent of my grief). I had become quite ill and have sought out treatment. Knowing you are still in this world has given me strength and someday I may find my way back to the wider world, but it will not be soon._

_Your friendship was one of the brightest points in my life and I do not regret a second of it. Even knowing its conclusion, I would stand on that bridge all over again and let it take shape in its fire-bright glory against the darkness of our surroundings. There is a special beauty in the ephemeral and I appreciate it more each day. As you promised, our time together was legendary. I hope you see it as such, if not today then some tomorrow._

_I wish you only the best, my once-friend, and I sincerely hope that all the blessings that you are worthy of come to you (and you are worthy of so many, let no one tell you different). I will be watching your assured rise to greatness with delight. My only fear is that you may lose the part of you that drew us so close together. There is no light without darkness, yet darkness is capable of snuffing out the light. I bid you caution, and love, and farewell. Because if I do not stop writing now, I never will._

_With all my affection and greatest joy,_

_Claire Jolene Kent_

He held the letter carefully away from himself, he’d learned his lesson when he’d smudged it the first time with three small drops of liquid. Most times, it was unnecessary, but this time it was not.

When he’d first received the letter dated a three months after the news broke of his miraculous survival, the contents infuriated him. He was still so wounded from Helen’s betrayal that the love written within nearly drove him to destroy it. But he hadn’t and exactly a year later, alone in a hotel suite in Beijing with a bottle of half-drunk baijiu, he’d been able to interpret the forgiveness - which was nearly as painful. He’d spent the past year unconsciously afraid Claire would reappear and force a confrontation, but she never had. And by the anniversary of the letter, he’d made himself face the real fear: his guilt over how he’d treated her. Not just the way he abandoned her in the face of his father’s wrath, but how he’d tried to force his way back into her life when he returned to Smallville months later. He’d demanded she resume their friendship. All the while flaunting his relationship and later engagement with Helen. It hadn’t been a good night, nor a good morning, suffering both his first hangover in years and the release of emotions he’d kept bottled up for so long.

He’d paid for surveillance in his paranoia and knew that the Kents had spent more than they could afford hiring investigators to try and find their daughter but nothing was ever uncovered. His letter was post-marked Anchorage, Alaska and the Kent’s Seattle, Washington; but with Claire’s abilities she could be anywhere within minutes so their only clue was useless. He could have added his own resources and connections to the search, but by then he’d blamed himself and felt that he’d caused enough damage by involving himself with Claire. He cancelled the surveillance contract and buried himself in his increasingly demanding work.

Over the years though, during low moments, he’d reread the letter. Usually with a glass of liquor and a cloud of painful loneliness as accompaniment. He hadn’t lacked companionship during that time, in fact he’d brought business to bed as often as he brought pleasure, but trust and affection never once entered into the act. He hated Helen too much to remember the good times, so for him: Claire was the only woman he’d ever made love to. Sometimes he called her a child in his head, usually to punish himself. Most times he called them both children, they’d certainly been living a childish ideal before it had been crushed under the weight of reality. But seeing now how little his life had changed while she had faced illness, motherhood and now pending marriage: he wondered who the child had been.

Folding the letter and placing it carefully back into its box and then the box into the safe where he kept the last remnants of his childhood, Lex stood carefully and wiped his face on his sleeve. He no doubt had countless emails and phone calls to respond to - his own business as well as managing the transition for LuthorCorp. After, he intended to call several discreet services and get as high, drunk and fucked as possible so any lingering emotions would be thoroughly buried when he contracted a social secretary tomorrow. He hated his father. He hated what he was being asked to do more. But the last five years had given him very high tolerance for the unpalatable nature of success. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d sacrificed personally for a victory.

Wayne Enterprises was a direct competitor to LuthorCorp. Lionel had set himself against them from the start in defiance of the old money and first families that owned and populated WE’s board. If the WE CEO suddenly became not only well-regarded but also competent (Bruce had been nearly as smart as himself at school but abandoned his collegiate studies to party abroad), the long campaign between companies could become a pitched battle. Metropolis and Gotham were very different sister cities but they were separated only by a river at the narrowest point. Both companies would profit greatly from overtaking the other’s physical territory as well as business arenas.

 

Later, between sessions with ‘Felice’ and ‘Tony’ (a brunette Latina and a dark black American – never a white blonde. Never.), Lex mused that this assignment would be easier if he could succeed in seducing Bruce instead. Not only would it make public his infidelity (and Lex was under no illusions: he would be doing this for public consumption rather than blackmail) but it would also drag WE’s reputation down among the bigots. Breaking the engagement because of Claire’s actions would only hurt Bruce, and by extension WE, but not WE directly.

Only, Lex and Bruce had been roommates for four years at Excelsior (despite Bruce being three years his senior, due to their common affliction of night terrors. Great idea there, locking two of the most damaged kids in the school together all night to feed on each other’s horrors). Not once during that time did they ‘experiment’ as boarding school boys are wont to do. Bruce had even tried to curtail Lex’s precociousness with the students and teachers during his final year, sometimes to the point of violence. Lex had offered, which wasn’t really the word but he was too high to come up with an appropriately humiliating verb for what he’d done one night when Bruce had physically blocked him from sneaking out after lights out, and Bruce may as well have been made of stone.

Which left Claire and now he regretted following her advice. His soul was far darker and more damaged than the last time they’d met, but it was still intact enough to cringe away from sacrificing one of the best set of memories he had at the altar of his father’s empire. Even if he was certain at this point that it was his future empire as well (Lucas had gotten himself shot over a poker game shortly after Lex left for Asia and Tess had drowned alongside Oliver Queen when his yacht was caught in a storm - the fucker). Those times were a part of his soul he’d preserved in the face of a lot of hard choices.

He rolled over and snorted another fat line of the good stuff, which was so much easier to get here that it felt practically legal, and then pressed his face into the closest warm thigh to ride the bright, glorious rush. Maybe, just maybe, the letter had been a lie. A pretty little lie to comfort the poor little rich boy who got murdered by his wife but ate grubs and came back instead. Maybe she hated him like she had during their last confrontation - when she’d wept and yelled and accused him of ruining her life - and she’d been playing the bigger person. He smiled, imagining getting slapped in the middle of a ballroom and making some witty joke about how ‘hitting each other is how we say hello’. It was funny and so he giggled madly. Then his mind made one of its delightful little leaps that kept him so far ahead of the sheep.

He’d never said a word about Claire’s mutation, not once, and until this moment he never intended to. But now, if all else fails, he supposed he could blackmail her since she never registered under the Meta-Human ID Act – he’d checked, that’s how he knew. Neither had he, but then, he didn’t (and never would) have children who would also need to be registered (and discriminated against). He stretched, snuggling into firm flesh. It wasn’t what his father wanted, the man was a serial cheater so he didn’t believe fidelity existed, but it might satisfy him if Claire had grown out of being such an idealistic little fool with the misfortune of falling in love with him once upon a time.

Floating on a warm sea of pretty pills and pretty mouths, he felt sad somehow. It only lasted a moment, but a tear leaked out at the thought of those sparkling, corn-stalk green eyes being as hard and emotionless as the ones he saw when he looked in the mirror. But then a wash of endorphins pulled him under again and he mentally tucked Claire away in the place he’d made for her deep in his mind, always turned away so she wouldn’t see the things he was doing. She wouldn’t approve and it was the only way to silence that little voice that sounded so much like her.

 

The Wayne Foundation hosted fundraisers for various causes nearly twice a month. Though it took a sizable donation to secure a ticket to the latest gala. Apparently, the engagement announcement had made Claire her own celebrity and now everyone wanted to meet the woman that would become Mrs. Bruce Wayne. The fact that she’d been escorting Bruce for the last three years seemed inconsequential. Lex wondered how she was handling it. In the past, she’d been shy but sweet at society events. Gotham society was richer and older than Metropolis, as well as far more ruthless to newcomers. Lex had experienced it himself, he avoided Gotham on principle but especially the society events. He’d expected them to eat her alive but the file he’d been provided described her as well liked for her sharp intellect and ‘country’ manners.

The Grand was one of Gotham’s landmarks, an imposing hotel built high in Gotham’s unique Dark Nouveau architectural style. Lex disliked it. It was all the heavy stone and brickwork with a seemingly endless number of grotesques and gargoyles. He admittedly liked the intricately arched windows and lace-like stained glass on display in the ballroom, but the vaulted ceilings and enormous crystal chandeliers made him wish he were back in Metropolis with her airy Contemporary Art Deco interiors and modern art decor. Even the newly built mishmash of East and West, fusion of old and new, which was Hong Kong was preferable to this. Or maybe it was just the crowd.

The room was packed with everyone from the politicians to the glitterati to the press. Lex supposed it was a good thing for the Children of Gotham charity that was building and running after school sites in the poorest parts of the city. But it was stifling with his fall weight tuxedo and an empty tumbler. The line at the bars were prohibitive, he would rather suffer. Now if only he could stop glad handing with everyone that recognized him (which was quite a few, considering his unmissable appearance) and find the happy couple.

After extricating himself from a painful round of introductions by one of his father’s business partners, Lex found himself gripped painfully at the elbow by a slight woman with short brown hair. He was about to say something scathing when she spoke in his ear, “Will you come with me, Mr. Luthor? Mr. Wayne wishes to speak with you.” She spoke in a way that made it more of a statement than a question, but he could hardly refuse. He nodded and allowed her to lead him through the crowd to the back of the ballroom and through a set of doors into a quiet hallway.

Like the hallway, the room he was ushered into was luxurious and intimate with heavy brocades and gold accents. It was some sort of lounge or casual meeting room with plush couches aligned with low dark wood tables. Bruce Wayne was sitting with his feet propped on a table playing with his phone and sipping pink champagne. “Mr. Luthor, sir,” the woman announced, since apparently Bruce hadn’t cared to look up when the door opened.

Familiar, fathomless dark eyes met his when Bruce looked up. For a moment, Lex had the sensation of being pinned to a board like a new insect specimen. But then the old intensity passed in a blink and the new Bruce with his wide smile and vacant eyes emerged, nearly jumping up from the couch. “Lex! It’s been ages! So good of you to come and support the cause,” the enthusiasm seemed genuine but the words were rote. “Mercy, thank you so much for finding him.”

“Shall I go now, sir?” Her posture was as painfully stiff as her manner.

“Yes, yes, but one of these days I’d like you to call me ‘Bruce’,” the limp hand Bruce waved her off with made Lex cringe internally.

“Of course, sir,” she executed a precise head bob and then left the room, closing the doors soundlessly behind her. Cut off from the noise of the ballroom, Lex suddenly felt uncomfortable. What the hell did he have in common with this man anymore? He’d planned on crashing a conversation with they would be in with others as an excuse to talk about their shared history, but here he was because Bruce had sought him out first. Why?

“You look like you could use another drink, I know I do,” the glass of champagne apparently forgotten where he’d set it on the table. Lex followed him to the bar dumbly. He’d known Bruce had changed by reputation, but it was taking more time than he’d thought to unite the two versions of the man in his mind and make something coherent. It was like being in the room with a stranger wearing the skin of a friend.

Luckily, the excessively well-stocked bar was a distraction. Bruce stepped behind to play bartender. “What are you having this tonight? I’m a Hennessey man at the moment but you can never go wrong with a good Macallan.”

Lex accepted an obscenely old Glenfiddich just to be contrary and was ushered over to a different plush couch for Bruce to lounge opposite of him, “How are things? You’ve been away for so many years and doing so well for yourself, I was surprised to hear you were back.” Bruce swirled his snifter and regarded him with an open, quizzical expression.

There wasn’t a good answer to that, so Lex demurred, “Dad decided that I’d proved myself competent, apparently. I’ll have a new position soon, but it’s all I’ll say to the CEO of a competitor.” He sipped his whisky as Bruce bobbed his head in understanding. “I saw the announcement in the Planet and thought I’d offer my congratulations to an old friend.” He lifted his tumbler and offered a smile that almost didn’t hurt.

“Ah,” Bruce’s smile got impossibly wider. “But which ‘old friend’ is the question, isn’t it?” He waggled his brows suggestively, somehow making it more charismatic than comical. Lex nearly choked at being caught out. “Claire was even more surprised than I was that you’d returned to Metropolis. She’d been set on the idea that you’d remain abroad until Lionel’s funeral. Something about how the two of you can’t be in the same room without trying to kill each other.” He suddenly laughed, “Please don’t tell me it’s true the two of you fence without masks and buttons.”

Lex remembered that day, when he’d wagered the livelihood of hundreds of Smallville residents on the outcome of a match. They’d always fenced without buttons, it had started so early he’d never questioned why his father refused electric equipment and preferred the sharp tips uncovered. By some unspoken signal, they’d both also forgone protective masks for the match. After Lionel had left, Claire had appeared from where she’d been watching and babbled about machismo and missing eyes while he crowed his success. Despite the way his chest tightened, how that little victory’s sweetness was soured over having it shared with an outsider, Lex smiled rakishly and shrugged, “It was a one-time thing. He exiled me and I was bored. Surely Claire’s told you about Smallville and all its exciting diversions.” The mocking tone nearly became a sneer.

Bruce’s laugh was amused without mocking, “Oh, I’ve been. I believe your old coffee shop is the premier attraction, followed by viewing the ‘Luthor Castle’ while extoling the eccentricities of the rich and trying to trespass in order to climb a water tower? All in all, very exciting. How did you manage it all?” Bruce bantered with him. Lex, of course, knew Bruce had been to Smallville, the file had included that as well. Bruce’s personal jet had landed at Smallville’s private airport a dozen times in the last two years. Always in the mornings and never staying overnight. Martha Kent was a passenger in the opposite direction several times a year for extended visits but it seems Jonathan Kent didn’t like Bruce any more than he had Lex. That had been a petty victory in his heart.

“Well,” he leaned forward with intent, laying the ground work. “To be honest, Claire had a lot to do with it. I think I might have lost my mind or begged my father to take me back if I hadn’t had _something_ about Smallville that was worthwhile.” He watched Bruce closely but his expression never varied from light-hearted interest, “That is, of course, after she saved my life. So really, I owe her everything.”

Bruce became somewhat serious, “I’ve heard that story. I can’t say I’m glad that you nearly died, but I am glad that you found a new direction in life because of it. It was difficult hearing about how self-destructive you were for a time. You’ve really turned it all around, I’m glad.”

Lex had finally maneuvered Bruce into a place where he couldn’t refuse a one-on-one with Claire when a hard knock sounded. Before either of them could respond, the door opened and a small boy in a dark suit entered. Lex was momentarily transported back in time. If it wasn’t for the boy’s dark green eyes, he could have been an exact copy of the young Bruce he had known at Excelsior. Pale skin, glossy dark hair, tall and lean but not slim. Lex was still marveling when Bruce asked in a strong yet gentle voice that he’d never heard from him before, “Yes, Damian?”

“You disappeared, Father. I wondered where you had gone. Who is this?” the boy stood next to the couch and regarded Lex openly. His gaze was direct and assessing, not what he had expected from a child that age. His fists were in his trouser pockets but otherwise he seemed comfortable in his high-collared shirt and tie, his jacket correctly buttoned. Lex returned the look and something strange pinged his instincts.

He was still trying to figure it out when Bruce rose and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder (gently, Lex noted, unlike his own father) and turned him to face Bruce who looked down with a kind of exasperated patience, “Damian, this is an old school friend of mine: Lex Luthor. We were catching up and you not only interrupted, you were rude. Please apologize.”

Lex wasn’t surprised. His information on the boy was limited, all the children were privately tutored at home, but Damian Wayne was known for being quite rude by speaking bluntly. Not just the unfiltered speech of a child, but intentionally insulting. Lex had assumed it was the boy’s upbringing (nothing had been revealed about the boy’s life before being debuted by his father nor the mother and her circumstances) but as the boy turned back without a flicker of remorse, he revised his opinion. Young Bruce had been hyper aware of the emotions of others, mostly trying to puzzle them out. This boy seemed entirely unconcerned with them, “My apologies, Mr. Luthor. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He offered his own diminutive hand.

Still aware of some detail he was missing, Lex grasped the hand and was surprised at both the strength of the boy’s grip and the calluses that scratched against his own carefully manicured palms. “The pleasure is mine. Your father and I were once good friends. You look so much like him at that age that I was overwhelmed for a moment by nostalgia.” The boy’s expression did change then. Lex caught surprise which shifted to a haughty kind of pride before the boy let go of his hand and smoothed his expression once more.

The boy crossed his arms behind his back and the ping became an itch, “Will you be staying in Gotham or are you just visiting? I heard you were working in Hong Kong, will you be returning?” The questions were rapid fire and without pretense. The file had gotten that much right.

“Damian,” Bruce’s voice had a thread of exasperation. “I thought you were watching the twins. That was your duty tonight.”

“They’ve already fallen asleep from the excitement. Claire put them to bed in the suite and Rosaline is with them. I wish to be with you,” the explanation began with the precision of a debriefing but the last was spoken with open adoration. Lex almost never liked children, especially when he had business to conduct, but something about Damian was catching his focus. He was obviously intelligent, not unexpected from Bruce’s offspring, but there was something…

“Will you tell me stories of Father at school? I am told that the social interaction aspect of group education is vital for future success, however I have never witnessed its effects directly. Please tell me of the experiences that you shared as peers,” the boy turned back and he was using with wide eyes and raised brows, but the unwavering emerald stare was unnerving.

“No, Damian. If Mr. Luthor wishes to share stories about our school days, it won’t be tonight. If you don’t want to escort Claire then you have my permission to return to the suite and swim or otherwise occupy yourself,” Bruce was getting more formal in his speech as well. It was jarring, the shift from lush just starting to let loose for the night to formal, direct father. Rosaline was the name of the family nanny, but she apparently didn’t deal with Damian. Or he had slipped the net.

Lex wondered if this independent and intelligent child is what the serious, dark, sometimes violent boy he had known should have been. If this patient yet commanding man Bruce had suddenly become was the way Thomas Wayne had treated his own son. What it must have been like to be raised in such a way.

He was shaken out of his musings when their debate had apparently been completed. Damian bowed a fraction before straightening, almost correctively, his face serious, “Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Luthor. I hope you enjoy your evening. And please be careful: Gotham is a dangerous place after dark.” Then he turned, “Good night, Father.” He received a brief, fierce embrace from Bruce and then left, though not without a final steady stare as he passed. Lex stared back and decided that the report was severely lacking.

“Sorry about that,” Bruce threw himself back onto the opposite couch in a sprawl. He picked up his snifter and downed it before adding, “The therapist says we’re supposed to set boundaries but otherwise encourage his attachment. Usually, Claire is the one who deals with the children but this is one of her pet charities so she’s too busy to watch them tonight.” He turned his head on a cushion towards Lex, indifferent to the way it was mussing his hair and clothes, “Damian is a good kid, if a little forward. I hope he didn’t offend you.”

Lex saw an opening and changed tack, retrieving the bottles from the bar, he refilled both their glasses, being generous with Bruce’s, “Of course not. He’s just a boy. Besides, I seem to remember another young boy who’s mouth got him in trouble more times than not.” He tipped his chin at Bruce in silent condemnation.

Bruce shifted into a more comfortable position, his jacket undone and the lines ruined completely, and gave Lex a lazy smile over the rim of his glass, “I wouldn’t describe it that way. It was your tone that offended them, they didn’t have the vocabulary to understand what you were actually saying to them.”

They both laughed and Lex surprised himself by being genuine about it. Excelsior had been unmitigated hell the vast majority of the time but sitting here reminded him that there had been some good times as well. Bruce had started out as his protector but Lex had his own strengths. While Bruce had used his fists, Lex had used his wits and by the end of their first year together had become a duo that couldn’t be attacked without serious reprisals. There had been the mischief in the chemistry labs and midnight raids on the kitchens. In a flush of gratitude, Lex offered up a moment of raw honesty, “You were a good friend, Bruce. I’m not sure where I’d be today if you hadn’t been there.”

Bruce’s dark eyes watched him steadily, his mouth quirked but still somehow serious. After a few moments, long enough for Lex to assume he wouldn’t respond, Bruce set his snifter down and put his elbows on his knees, hands folded together, “We did what we had to in order to survive. That included banding together. But you taught me a great deal about myself and others, Lex. I think our lives would still have taken on the same broad strokes but the finer details can definitely be traced back to those late nights together: talking and helping each other. Thank you for that.” His voice had dropped a register and become rougher with emotion.

Refilling Bruce’s glass gave Lex a moment to compose himself again. If possible, he hated himself even more for what he’d come here to do. He was about to start again when Bruce’s lighter but still rough voice spoke lowly, “I know why you’re here.”

Glancing up, Bruce’s posture was back to being a wreck, with one smooth-soled shoe kicked up on the table between them. But his eyes remained serious, “Claire and I went full disclosure not long after we started dating. I know about your history together, including the specifics. And while I sympathize, I really do, the time to retread old ground was three years ago, not now.”

Lex refused to believe that he was that transparent, especially to someone like Bruce, “What exactly are you saying?”

Bruce shifted forward to retrieve his snifter and performed another blasphemous gulp before continuing, speaking to his glass, “Claire is… unique. In every meaning of the word. If I’d made the same mistakes that you have then I would be willing to do almost anything to correct them. She’s worth fighting for - but this isn’t a battle you can win. She’s my friend, my partner, and mother to my son. I myself will be formally adopting the twins soon.” Bruce looked up and there was a hardness there that he hadn’t expected, “I would do almost anything to protect my family and you, my old friend, are a direct threat to that.”

Lex was furious, though he ruthlessly suppressed it along with visions of Bruce and Claire tangled together whispering secrets that she had no right to share. Gripping his tumbler, he leaned forward himself and projected wounded sincerity, “Bruce, you have the wrong idea here. Claire and I parted as friends, I’m not-“

“Did you know she was on life support after your supposed death?” Bruce cut in, his tone light but the words sent a chill through Lex. Claire’s mutation was even stronger than his own. Once she left Smallville and its minefield of meteors, she should have been functionally invincible.

“That’s impossible,” Lex sneered the words. Holding fast to the idea that Claire would have kept her mutation a secret once away from Smallville and the others afflicted by the meteors.

“Actually, it’s not. She has what amounts to a hereditary auto-immune disease, made all the deadlier because of her… unusual health.” Bruce’s significant pause shattered Lex’s illusions. Had she told him about Lex’s mutation as well? He tucked that horrifying thought away to focus as Bruce continued. “The stress of your ‘sudden departure’ from Smallville triggered the first episode,” Bruce actually used air quotes and Lex _hated_ him for it. “Your death magnified and accelerated the effects. She nearly died, she _was_ dying the last time you saw her, but by luck her birth family was seeking her at the same time. When they found her, they were able to get her the specialist care she needed.”

Lex was finding it hard to breathe. Claire had lost some of the glory from appearance and slimmed down when he’d come back to Smallville that last time but he’d blamed it on her first heartbreak. She hadn’t looked ill. _But she’d acted like it_ , a traitorous voice whispered. Her boundless energy and resilience was such an indelible part of her in his mind, he’d attributed its absence to listlessness in the face of their arguments, not some sickness eating away at her from the inside. He’d even seen it a week ago. The significant weight she’d shed from her Smallville days was chic but so different from the muscle and curves he’d known so intimately.

“Her last significant crisis was the twins’ birth: she knowingly risked her life carrying them to term. Rosaline, their nanny, was brought on with the stipulation that if Claire died, she would take the twins back to Smallville and assist the Kents in raising them. Thankfully, she survived.” Bruce took another drink, his mouth seemingly gone dry. Lex was simply frozen. “She’s learned to manage her condition since then. It hasn’t been easy but she’s dedicated to her children and wants to be a part of their lives for as long as possible. However, certain significant stressors can send her into a tailspin with very little notice.

“You, Lex, are her most significant stressor. Her health began to deteriorate the minute she learned that you’d returned to Metropolis. So far it hasn’t gone farther than a general decline in energy and mood, but it could turn worse at any time. Especially, for example, during the fundraiser for her personal charity when an ‘old friend’ makes a sudden reappearance.” Bruce stood smoothly, despite the amount of liquor he’d consumed. With a few deft brushes of his clothes and hair he looked far more composed than he had any right to, “So, as I said, I sympathize but you’re a danger not only to Claire but to our children’s lives. I wish I could allow you some closure, I believe Claire needs it as well, but the damage it would inflict far outweighs the possible benefits.” He offered his hand to Lex and, with a significant amount of will, Lex accepted and was hauled to his feet with surprising ease.

Bruce didn’t release his hand, though, instead loomed close and it bothered the hell out of him that Bruce was still taller than him, “Go home, Lex, wherever that is. Close that chapter of your life and move on. As I said: three years ago, before Claire explained her past to me, I would have stepped back and let her handle this because it would have been her choice. But since then, she’s become a part of my family and I take that responsibility seriously.”

Lex intended to argue but the grip turned bone-grinding and Lex gasped. Bruce’s voice turned to gravel, “You treated her like dirt and put her through hell. And I’ve been watching and listening. You may play the brighter son but I know about the quality of people you surround yourself with and it isn’t encouraging. I had hoped you’d be a better man than your father, but that doesn’t appear to be the case. So even if you met with Claire again, you aren’t worthy of being her friend, let alone anything more.

"Stay out of Gotham, there isn’t anything for you here,” Bruce released his hand as suddenly as he’d crushed it and walked out of the room without another word.

Lex realized he was panting and forced himself to breathe through his nose. He was furious: with his father, with Claire, with Bruce, but especially with himself. How could he have remembered their school days and thought that Bruce’s violent protectiveness wouldn’t extend to the woman he loved? He opened and closed his hand a few times, it hurt like hell and he would bruise but hopefully it would be gone by tomorrow. What the hell was he going to do now? His father wanted results but Bruce’s tone when he’d said ‘Gotham’ held dark promises of which Lex was smart enough to heed.

He tossed back the rest of his drink and resisted smashing the glass against the wall. His mind was on fire with implications of what Claire had gone through while he’d been so willfully blind to her suffering, the fact that she’d found her birth family, that she could be so strong and still so fragile, that Bruce might have some idea of the kind of business he conducted whenever he wasn’t on his father’s time. He considered that Bruce might be lying, that this was all some elaborate farce to scare off a former lover, but Claire’s letter had specifically mentioned being sick. Smallville was full of so many mysteries that he assumed it was some sort of meteor madness the likes of which they seemingly dealt with every week. He had never considered that her own body could turn against her. But wasn’t that always the way of it? The meteors took with one hand and gave with the other.

His mind was awhirl as the past and present weaved and unravelled into new insights. Bruce was far less of a fop than the press liked to portray him. His father’s investigators hadn’t found a single indication of where Claire had been after Smallville or who her birth family might be, why was that hidden? Her children were also going to become Waynes, which hadn’t been in the paper or the report (Jonathan Kent was going to love that). If Bruce knew about his ‘business’ connections did that mean his father did as well?

The door clicked open and the brunette came to stand a few meters from him, “If you’ll allow me to escort you to your vehicle, Mr. Luthor?” Again with the questions as statements, but now Lex realized that all this had been a carefully choreographed dance likely put into motion the moment he’d paid for his ticket. He was about to follow when he had a sudden flash of insight.

“Give me a minute,” he used his most authoritative voice. She seemed completely unimpressed, but left the room once more. Lex thought for a moment and then spoke at a normal conversational volume, “Claire Jolene Kent. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I hope you can. Bruce’s shovel talk was impressive, but he forgot one very specific detail: I always get what I want. Meet with me, I’ll leave the details of slipping away from your future husband to you. If you don’t, by next week there will be an investigative team from Checkmate at your door with a file full of evidence. I’m told they’re specifically chosen for being patriots who can’t be bought off. I’m willing to risk my own anonymity over this. Are you willing to risk yours and that of your children?” He waited a full three minutes and then walked out the door. Claire always put others before herself, she might not be rushing to meet him here but he was certain he’d be seeing her.

 

Four nights later, well after midnight and after working non-stop with few breaks for food or sleep, he relaxed out on the expansive Penthouse balcony. He’d managed to add another dozen or so layers to the most sensitive (and illegal) of his operations. As far as he was aware, and he’d need to overhaul his spy network completely, Lionel had some inkling as to what Lex preferred to do with his free time but it was mainly the penny-ante smuggling and illegal gambling that he’d invested in to start building contacts in Beijing’s underworld. His other operations, the ones that brought in the most of his well-hidden and widely dispersed personal wealth, had been built from the ground up and therefore were far better concealed from prying eyes.

Silently, he saluted Vega with his badly-needed water glass (bathroom breaks were for the weak and desperate), which was one of the few stars you could see through Hong Kong’s light pollution. Metropolis’s sky was lit up by comparison, but the two of them had become close friends over the years. He’d swore when he left school that he’d never be anything but a scientist masquerading as a businessman, and he had invested heavily in scientific entities (personally and as his father’s subordinate), but somewhere along the line his passion for science had been ground down. About the only thing left was his wonder for the stars. Metropolis had one of the best space museums and planetariums in the world, maybe he should make some time and visit so he didn’t wear himself to the bone waiting for Claire’s response to his threat.

He was still furious, but Bruce’s phrasing had given him an important clue: ‘the quality of people you surround yourself with’. It was an old-fashioned way to insult the low station of a man’s friends in the upper class, but it could also be taken literally. Most of the bodyguards he’d hired in Asia had been poached, good-naturedly, from the Triad. They were knowledgeable, relatively loyal, and could smooth the way into places that his white features would bar him from. He’d also found several management-types and those that were absolute geniuses at creative accounting and folded them into his more legitimate organizations. He’d have to be more careful in the future.

He’d become complacent in China. Corruption was a way of life and the criminal organizations were just one aspect of it, you also had the government and the other businesses. Honesty was a losing policy there, you had to do anything to get ahead because that was the way everyone else operated. Not that it was particularly different anywhere else, but the easy acceptance of it is what had grown on him. Nothing was accomplished quickly in America, even in Metropolis where LuthorCorp reigned king. His father was fairly well-connected with the underworld, but with the illicit organizations of each city consolidating into semi-legitimate Syndicates, contracting with them as needed wasn’t going to be as easy soon. His father was also shockingly bad at managing his political associations. He was direct and demanding, tending to think from the top down rather than investing early and working from the bottom up. Never mind that he’d passed on buying the Daily Planet and considered the Inquisitor comparable. In ways it was maddening, but it was also an opportunity that he intended to fully take advantage of now that he was back.

Which brought him right back around to Claire. He settled on a lounge and closed his aching eyes. Not even his extraordinary healing ability could completely replace rest and relaxation. He’d realized within an hour of returning to the LuthorCorp penthouse (his father preferred to commute by helicopter from the mansion just outside the city proper) that he was unconsciously waiting for a phone call or a visit. So he’d left Claire’s name with every possible point of access to him, as well as separately her appearance if she wanted to stay anonymous (she wouldn’t but the illusion would get her alone with him) and then thrown himself into his work.

Twice Enrique drugged his coffee and it put him out for an hour or so each time (he must have used the good stuff) but after he came to in bed, he’d simply risen, dressed again in business clothes and set himself to work again. The work itself hadn’t been terribly difficult but it had been exacting and tedious. It was entirely possible he could have passed it off to one of the handful of trusted accountants he’d accumulated, but completing the entire operation himself kept the extent of his modest empire isolated from anyone other than himself.

It was a cool night but he was in a sheltered spot and comfortable under a heater in his sweater and slacks. He could nod off here easily and he wouldn’t run the risk of the walk back to his room starting the anxious cycle of imagining conversations and weighing outcomes all over again. Not to mention the aching anticipation of a particular seduction. Enrique would probably let him stay out here is it meant Lex was finally sleeping.

“I’ll only say this once.”

“Jesus Christ!” Lex fell out of the chair and his water glass smashed somewhere nearby. But he hardly noticed because Claire was sitting on the wide edge of the balcony in front of him. They were ninety-five stories above the street and she leaned back over the edge casually, kicking her feet while the wind tore at her bright hair and dark clothes. His heart felt like it was going to hammer out of his chest, and not just from the shock, so he felt compelled to react and regain some sort of position while he stood up, “How the hell did you get up here?” A glance told him that the balcony doors were intact and closed. The only place in Metropolis higher than this spot was the roof and the top of the Planet’s globe.

“The same way I do everything. Now, pay attention because this is important. If you threaten my children again, you won’t see the next sunrise. I promise you.” In five years and six months, Claire had only grown more beautiful. Her pale green eyes seemed to glow in the strange lighting from the Plaza below and there was an undeniable power in every inch of her. If she hadn’t confessed to him all those years ago, he would be unnerved at the least, but he’d always been attracted to her power and she seemed to have finally learned to project it rather than hide.

Swallowing against the sudden burn of arousal that threatened to derail his thoughts, he brought all of his focus to bear on this conversation. Without proof that she entered the building, he hadn’t gained any leverage. And if Claire had changed so much as to be willing to kill, then he’d have to feel his way towards his goal. “You won’t kill me, Claire,” he hadn’t intended to but her name came out in the same soft, slightly drawn out way that he’d liked to use because of how it affected her in public.

But things had changed. She simply crossed her arms, “You’re right. But I don’t have to. My birth father is fanatical about protecting his family. I had to fight to keep you from disappearing when he found me. He’d do it today, if I allowed it. Also, that room at the gala was under surveillance. You’re lucky I got to the tapes before Bruce heard them. Then he would be here and you would _wish_ you were dead.” She shook her head, “You used to be smarter than this, Lex.”

 _And you used to be mine_ , the thought came unbidden and almost made it to his mouth. Seeing Claire in person was affecting him more than he had anticipated. He had a goal, but the questions he had were crowding them out. It was painful knowing that he once knew almost everything about her and now she was a stranger to him.

He didn’t really doubt Bruce’s violent tendencies, not after the fractures that he’d felt knitting back together for two days. But the other detail was too tempting, “You found your birth family then. That must have made you happy.”

Claire’s face was as expressive as ever, even in low light, and the sharp grief was not what he expected, “Not really, no. I got the answers I’d been looking for, but not much else. They’re all dead and gone, except for my birth father, and so all I have are ghosts to mourn. And as for the kind of man my birth father is: I’m glad the Kents raised me instead. He could give your father some pointers about megalomania and the quest for power.”

Lex’s brows shot up. Claire’s powers under the control of a man like his father was a nightmare. And she’d been ill and vulnerable, “How did you get away from him?”

“I’m stronger than him, but it took years to be able to say that.” Suddenly the two years she’d been missing became more understandable. “But he still acts on his own if he feels either me or the twins are threatened. I’m not kidding, Lex, he’s wanted to act against you since he and I met. Don’t give him an excuse.”

Interesting. “So you believe he’s an actual threat?” Claire was channeling Jonathan Kent’s no-nonsense tone, whether she knew it or not, so he played flippant to keep her lecturing.

But she didn’t give him any further details, knowing who the man was would help him prepare, she just sighed and looked up at the stars. A memory tried to surface, the night that she’d described what the night sky looked like to her, but he suppressed it. Everything about Claire seemed to leave him off balance and he needed to focus. She was here, she hadn’t let Bruce know or her birth father interfere, so it was personal. He needed to cultivate that. He’d been thinking about what to say for days before the gala and decided to go for broke.

“I missed you, too.” Claire’s head snapped down too fast to be entirely human. She watched him with a little line between her brows. He remembered it showed up when she didn’t believe him. “And I’m sorry too. I was the selfish one, and cruel as well, but I wanted you in my life even if it was just as a friend.”

The line became deeper as the rest of her face tightened. “Why did you do it?” He voice was almost lost in the wind, but he heard the pain.

He doubted she was talking about the way he’d hounded her when he came back to Smallville with Helen. From her point of view, he’d walked away without a single word, not even to end things officially between them. He’d admitted to himself years ago how utterly excruciating that kind of betrayal must have been. “I left to protect you. My father found out somehow and threatened everything from exposing us to disinheriting me. It wasn’t until he showed me the evidence Phelan had gathered about you that I gave in. He didn’t know about your weakness, I convinced him that going after you would be suicide. I promised to break it off if he didn’t try to get us killed.” She didn’t speak, she didn’t move a muscle. “I left to protect myself. I was a coward and I couldn’t do it any other way. I wanted you to hate me, I thought it would make it easier for you too.”

“You were wrong,” her whole face was as hard as her voice. Jesus, someone had taught her how to hate. His heartbeat throbbed in his temple as the magnitude of the danger he was placing himself in became apparent. There was a little lead box in his pocket, a special order from Smallville, and he eased his hands into his pockets like he used to before he broke himself of that tell.

But Claire’s incredible eyes missed nothing. They flicked to the pocket and back up, raising a mocking brow that he recognized from his own mannerisms. It shocked him as much as her words, “Go ahead. It won’t work. Not anymore.”

“I seriously doubt that,” it was a good bluff, convincing as hell, but he’d spent too much time in Smallville. He’d watched multiple times while a tiny stone affected Claire in ways that high-speed impacts and lightning strikes couldn’t even begin to emulate.

“Then try it. Otherwise, I’m leaving. I’ve done what I came here to do.” She stood up on the ledge, completely unconcerned about the 1,500ft drop on the other side.

God, he didn’t want to do this. And yet, he really _really_ did. And not just for his father, that aspect was diminishing by the second. Smallville’s Claire had been smart, caring, and (eventually) honest, but she’d also been awed, overwhelmed, and (especially in bed) inexperienced. He’d thought that her abilities balanced the power between them. But this Claire was composed, commanding, and wore her strengths like a cloak. Now she was his equal and more. It was beyond arousing.

He flicked open the case, tossed its contents at her feet and waited with baited breath. She looked down, her foot less than an inch from the stone and then she looked up. But instead of what he expected, he got bewilderment, “Red?” Still nothing, she was practically standing on top of it but there was no flash of red in her eyes, no appearance of the Claire he’d met once and had always wished to meet again. Just… confusion. “Why red? What the hell are you after, Lex?” Anger was edging in on the uncertainty.

“You,” he admitted, and god, it was so true. “I didn’t know you’d come back. I thought if you did…” He took a deep breath and spoke more naked truth than he had in years, “I thought you’d come to me when you were back. Or at least contact me. I never expected to be called home just to open the paper and find out that you were getting married. To Bruce of all people!” Yes, that part hurt. The two of them were so similar on the surface, if she wanted money and power he could have given it to her. Would have, gladly, his father be damned.

“My name has been in the papers for years. Your father shook my hand at an event last year. You expect me to believe you never even set a google alert?! That you had no one in Metropolis or Smallville who would call you if I ever showed up again?” She hissed at him and her eyes glowed orange. Her fists were held tight at her sides. She could kill him faster than a bullet could. Reduce him to ash or hit him so hard he simply ended in a pink mist. Fuck, that shouldn’t be arousing, he really wished the stone had worked. “So it’s true then, you were too busy building your own kingdom on the back of weapons trading and human trafficking. Your father must be so proud.” The last was spoken with such sweetness and precision that Lex felt the pain of it through and through.

“Claire, you don’t understand –“

“No, I understand perfectly. You’ve become everything you feared. Everything _I_ feared. I needed you to be a better man, Lex. You HAD to be a better man. The things you know, the things I haven’t told you yet… I don’t know if I can hand that kind of power to the person you are now,” in horror he watched as she dropped her head and crystalline tears fell, sparkling in the glow of the lights below.

“I haven’t told anyone,” he drew his pride around him as armor against her pain and disappointment. He wouldn’t apologize for the path he took. Losing Claire, the entire period with Helen, being sent away with no choice as to where: all of that happened because he didn’t have the power to fight his father. He still wasn’t quite there, but he was a hell of a lot closer in just five years. He wouldn’t apologize for protecting himself.

She looked up and was painfully beautiful in her agony, “But you could. You could tell your father tomorrow, or the government, and I would have to fight back and run and live the kind of life I promised that my children would never have to. God, don’t you get it? I have a family now!!” She’d screamed the last and yet the blow never came. She didn’t reduce him to cinders. Instead, there was a click behind him and Lex turned to see Enrique stepping through the doors.

“Sir? Is everything alright?”

Lex turned back almost immediately, but he knew what to expect. Claire was gone as if she’d never been. He closed the twenty or so feet to the balcony’s edge and saw the ruby red crystal he’d tossed as well as something else. It was a flat square of pearl white, barely the size of a thumb print, standing out against the gray stone. But as he reached for it, he suddenly felt a flash of intense heat and yanked his hand back. The square was gone and a smoldering, black singe mark had taken its place. Fanciful explanations jumped to his mind, but they were impossible. Or rather improbable, like a certain woman he’d just been speaking with.

“Sir?” Enrique was the only one of his employees to witness the unhinged fallout in the months following his return to civilization. He probably thought Lex was having another Luis episode.

“Everything is fine. Go back to bed, that’s where I’m heading,” He waited until Enrique had reached the doors, the man was too loyal to actually leave him out here, before adding quietly, “You know what kind of person I am. You always have. This isn’t over.” He knew she was listening. She was capable of listening to everything he did anywhere for hours or days, though her fiancé might have a problem with that. But it didn’t matter, because he saw it in her eyes and felt it himself: they’d first met the day of the meteor shower, found each other again on the banks of that damned river and now they’d crossed paths once more. Each and every time changed the course of their lives. Claire may be loyal, but they had history and there was nothing Bruce had that he couldn’t give her. He just had to be patient.

**✧/V\✧**

“Where have you been?” Batman growled, shifting position on the narrow rooftop to give her access.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” Nightwing lowered herself from the sky. Her skin tight black and gray uniform covered her from her toes to her finger tips to the top of her neck. In the light, dark blue markings formed a v across her chest and over her shoulders to meet the hip-length black cape and created a suggestion of feathers across the back. The underside of the cape was the same blue, like her angular domino mask, and her pixie-cut black hair was artfully spiked.

“What did you accomplish?” He was still watching the warehouse across the street with his optics. It wasn’t necessary now that she was here, she could tell him exactly who was where and how many of the crates contained Jokerized meth, but he’d never relied on her more than absolutely necessary. She both appreciated it, not being another tool at his disposal, and hated it, there were times she just wanted to take care of everything at speed no matter that he’d shown her multiple times that his way caused less collateral damage.

She thought about his question. Really thought about it, even when she sped away swoop in and stop a mugging, zip-cuff the perp and disappear as the victim dialed emergency services. She settled back next to Batman to listen in to the Jokerz plans while she continued to think. They were both silent, it was one of the few things about Batman that didn’t infuriate her at times, until she finally answered some ten minutes later, “I needed to see it for myself. He’s changed, but it’s not too late. He still has a heart.”

“He’s the kind of scum we work to protect people against. If he’d done those things in Gotham, he’d be in Blackgate by now.” That was one of the infuriating things about Batman, punishment over rehabilitation. Immediate results without compassion or self-awareness. Especially since he was shifting in a way to warm his muscles up in order to ready himself to commit aggravated assault without a warrant or oversight.

“Blackgate would turn him into a crime boss. And that’s assuming he’d be convicted. Even Jor-El has trouble untangling his webs. Unless you want to create an enemy even I couldn’t beat, he needs to be turned to a different path,” She’d used Kryptonian technology to project her image while remaining across the Plaza on the far side of the Daily Planet’s roof. Far enough that she wouldn’t be affected more than she already was yet close enough to pick up his heartbeat and respiration in real time. It had been torture, but she’d lived through worse. “He used red kryptonite.”

Batman’s head whipped around and she could actually hear his teeth snap shut. She didn’t bother looking through the cowl, she could guess the kind of expression on Bruce’s face. She’d have to spend the evening after this stakeout ended convincing him not to do something drastic. “They’re getting in the trucks,” she told him, hoping he would forget it. He wouldn’t but hope was kind of her thing.

Twenty-seven Jokerz and their trucks with modified gas tanks full of drugs mixed with the latest Joker ‘gas’ formulation had been officially seized by Gotham Police just as predawn started lightening the sky for human eyes. She preferred to stay in the human range whenever she could. In her first year at the Manor, she made so many revealing mistakes in the ‘dark’ that she finally gave up. Nightwing got to enjoy the way Venus' pale swirling globe glowed nearly as bright as the waxing crescent moon on the flight back, but after gliding though the hidden entrance to the Cave, she settled to the floor and shifted her perception until the darkness was only broken under the lights and in front of the monitor bank.

The Batwing entered just after her. Part stealth jet, part Kryptonian hover tech: it was sleek, black and silent. Much like her pilot who had exited and was currently ripping off his gloves and armor, throwing them in the general direction of the armory.

“Oh dear,” she hear Alfred mutter from the main Manor entrance. She agreed, but said nothing. She simply removed her mask, and with it the hologram disguise of a different face and hair, setting it on one of the carts left for her. It was followed by the psionic-cloth shrunk to the size of a handkerchief. That she placed carefully in a biohazard bag. She’d taken a hit of some new variation of Joker’s acid. The Joker had somehow begun recruiting other genius chemists – or compelling them – to supplement his work while he was locked deep in Arkham Asylum. Bruce would want to study it, itemize the components, research their providence, search for the other chemists, remove the threat, create a neutralizing agent and then recreate it for his archive. She was welcomed to help with the work when it was Ivy or Crane but Joker was always Bruce’s ‘responsibility’ (obsession).

Bruce was still disrobing while gnashing his teeth (he hated the dentist, at this rate she was going to have to ask Jor-El to help her create Kryptonian tech toothpaste) so she narrowed her hearing to human levels and flew over to the showers in the nude. Psion-cloth was made to mesh, it liked to mesh, so even if she could manage two separate highly-focused thought processes, the cloth wouldn’t cooperate. In the beginning, she had hated the moments of nudity between removing her uniform and slipping on the robe Alfred always left for her. She could barely stand to wear summer clothes and while she somehow got away with wearing jeans and sweaters in Smallville year round, Gotham was different. Either it was early social conditioning she’d managed to retain from her Kryptonian childhood or a genetic memory from evolving on an icy planet, Jor-El couldn’t tell her. Regardless, exposing any skin was something she struggled with her whole life.

But after she’d gotten desperate and taken the brunt of a high-yield dirty bomb detonation, she’d been too injured to decontaminate herself and so Bruce and Alfred had done it for her - for their own safety and the integrity of the Cave. After getting a dozen thorough scrub-downs between acid baths, there was nothing they hadn’t seen. It wasn’t exactly how she saw herself adopting a more human attitude towards baring her skin but such is life as Batman’s partner. Although she still tended to lift off and speed to the showers whenever she was able - full nudity wasn’t human norm either.

She passed Bruce as she was leaving the showers (one of which was fed by the supposedly frigid underground river that had carved out the Cave over the millennia – it had enough pressure to peel off human skin and it was the best damn thing in the _Universe_ since Kryptonian’s never even had showers). He was still silent, he hadn’t spoken a word outside of mission necessity since she’d uttered ‘red kryptonite’ so she broke the silence for him, “Are you coming to bed?”

He paused, he was as naked as she was and she could see the gooseflesh being raised in the relative chill of the cave as he thought it through. Sometimes Bruce didn’t come back, even when the cowl came off. Sometimes he got stuck somewhere between, unable to fully let the Bat rest until he was needed again. Over the course of the last three years - first as her mentor, then her friend, then her partner - she’d learned how to draw Bruce out. It was especially important now that he was a father. Damian respected the Batman to a degree that bordered on worship but Bruce was his father. He needed to be present as much as was possible, if only to show his son who was training in order to join them in the field, how to balance their duties with a real life.

Finally, as Claire’s skin was nearly dry, the furious Bat faded and Bruce emerged in a shift of posture and facial expression. He wasn’t the public Bruce Wayne, but the private one that she cherished. He nodded slowly and then went to one of the other cubicles where the pressure and temperature were at human comfort levels. She dressed in soft pants and a long sleeved shirt: gray and dark blue. (She loved Alfred so much sometimes.)

Alfred was muttering to himself as he cleaned the armor bits he’d retrieved and so Claire left him to it. Upstairs, the manor was still asleep with curtains drawn and the offsite staff yet to arrive. She walked, that was another thing that separated Claire from Nightwing, upstairs and crossed to the family wing. Mercy was on duty, as always, reading a tablet as she sat in a chair tucked into the shadow of an alcove. She gave a nod, but was otherwise silent, which meant it had been an unremarkable night.

She used her ears then her sight to check on Damian, lifting ever so slightly so she could pass his room silently. He was curled tightly with his arms crossed and his back to the wall, but he was in the bed and he’d slept all night so she called it a victory. She didn’t tell Bruce about the multitude of weapons secreted around the room (she assumed he knew of most of them). It was a pact between her and Damian. She’d worked hard to earn Damian’s trust as a housemate after the abuse he’d suffered in his mother’s care and she hoped someday to earn his love as family, but for now she had his respect as Nightwing and that was enough to allow her to parent him without him pushing back (not that he recognized most of what she did as mothering, she hoped never to meet Talia in person).

Her next destination was down the hall. Damian had demanded to be closer to the main staircase than the younger children (closer to danger if they were ever attacked). It had been a good excuse to remodel the south-east bedrooms with the kind of materials that could withstand the antics of two very active Human-Kryptonian children. Two rooms had been made into one for space and the windows had been enlarged and modified to open wide in order to capture the most sunlight in the mornings. Here she entered without caution. At this time of the morning, her little stars could sleep though one of Batman’s flash bangs.

Despite the expansive room with two very large, titanium reinforced beds, Eleanor had made her way into William’s bed and the two were curled together in a sweet yin-yang embrace. Their hands held the other’s and their faces lay close enough to share breath. It had been their preferred sleeping arrangement since they’d become mobile, but it never failed to melt her heart. Part of her worried about their interdependence in a human society, but they were only four (five) so there was time to see if human blood and socialization would grant them more independence.

Twins had been extremely rare on Krypton, even before they disappeared with the invention of the Birthing Matrix roughly ten thousand earth years ago. Luckily, the Kryptonians were hoarders of information. Her Kryptonian father had sent an Archive of every kind of information regarding Krypton. Among the vast library were some ancient records and so Jor-El (actually the dead man’s personality construct) had some basis to explain the kinds of behaviors that would have been worrisome in human twins. They couldn’t be separated more than a few feet after birth without causing the most horrific screaming Claire had ever witnessed; they slept, moved, ate and excreted almost synchronously for over a year; if one experienced a trauma such as pain or fear, the other reacted as if they’d been part of the experience as well. All Kryptonians were low-level empaths but her House was known for the ‘strength’ of their minds. This apparently made them the best policy makers, leaders, and diplomats. There were legends about the lifelong emotional connection between twins and she’d had managed to birth twins of unusual ‘strength’ like herself, compounding their sibling Bond.

Luckily, Bruce and Alfred were beyond understanding and Damian was once disgusted, then jealous and now fiercely protective. It helped that they adored their big brother and had inexhaustible attention to give him whenever he was inclined. After the first difficult year, once Bruce swore Talia would never reclaim Damian, they’d told him the truth about the source of her ‘powers’ and the twins’ hybrid status. That had been the turning point as Damian had been considered a ‘half-blood’ himself (though in the language that he used, the word had connotations that immediately banned it from use).

It was still to be seen exactly how Eleanor and William’s human side would manifest. They were already stronger and more durable than she’d been at that age (her mother and her fought in the beginning over Claire’s strict code of conduct regarding _never_ treating their abilities as abnormal but Martha had made her peace with it and was now an invaluable resource for tracking the difference between her development and theirs, though the data was skewed somewhat by her years before arriving on Earth). She’d gotten as much education as she felt was practical in order to help if there were any complications but considering the fact that they were the spontaneous offspring of an alien and a mutated human, they seemed to be developing without any issues whatsoever. They were small for their real age, by human standards, but ahead of the curve for Kryptonians. Mentally, they were supposedly behind by Kryptonian metrics (to Jor-El’s frustration) but their IQ was tracking towards well above average for humans. In short, they were healthy, happy and protected. Before this month, she’d been a very relaxed and happy mother.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stroked a hand through Eleanor’s white gold curls and then William’s straight, bright auburn tresses. Neither had been socialized to fear shorn hair – a form of punishment on Krypton – so they both emulated Damian’s utilitarian length. Claire had actually wept the first time they demanded their hair cut but Alfred had told her it was shockingly human to do so and had saved the first clippings for the memory books (two locks were also preserved in crystal under Jor-El’s care – she refused to be ashamed). They shared a skin tone fairer than hers but with a golden undertone from the sun. Eleanor had had freckles for the first few months of her life, the twins had needed sunlight as much as they needed milk, but the sweet little speckles had faded as their abilities began to emerge.

 _This wasn’t how it was supposed to be_ , she lamented as she gazed down at the most important parts of her life. They weren’t just her children: they were the continuation of her race and her House, they were the promise of happiness and love and family, their existence had kept her alive when she should have died from the pain of a broken Bond. If only Lex knew what he was really threatening, he cherished family as much as she did.

Only, that was the old Lex. Smallville Lex before he’d gone away and come back pretending that they’d never been intimate, never whispered vows of love and unity. Tonight’s Lex was someone she could trust even less. He wasn’t just the man who had abandoned her unknowingly to a slow, agonizing death. He was a man building a criminal empire and doing it like he did everything else: exceedingly well. She’d kept herself on an information blackout over the years but apparently Jor-El and Bruce had coordinated to track the loose collection of illegal and amoral activities that Lex had harnessed to enrich himself. And now that money was being funneled elsewhere to become legitimate and invested to make him even richer.

It hurt to see him becoming the man he’d promised to never be because she’d believed him. She hated the necessity of it, but she couldn’t risk telling Lex yet. She wouldn’t deny her children the identity of their father, nor the opportunity to meet him, but it had to wait until they were older. When they could act human when needed and their minds and morality were set against the kinds of lessons Lionel would try to impart. They were too powerful to fall under the thrall of such a man or to take those lessons to heart.

But over the years she’d agonized about her decisions, she’d never once thought that they would need to protect themselves against _Lex_. She’d been ready to weather his anger and mistrust for keeping him from his children but she hadn’t been ready to deny him altogether. He knew her and the twins' one weakness, giving him control of a nuclear arsenal could be less devastating depending on who he had become.

Bruce stepped into the room, silent enough to sneak up even on her if she wasn’t paying attention. He was dressed the same, though in all black, and he joined her on the other side of the bed. His affection came in action, so she smiled as he rearranged the blankets and pillows in his own little ritual. He always managed to spend at least a few minutes a day with them and they were fascinated with him. There had been an accidental injury or two, but he wrestled with them, played hide and seek or read a story if a book was pressed into his hands. He hadn't really known how to interact with them in the beginning but over the years he'd grown comfortable being a part of their lives.

He’d offered his home as refuge soon after Claire began training with Batman. He’d managed to trace where she disappeared to at odd times without explanation and was nearly killed by Mercy for his trouble. Finding her children had been a shock since he'd seen her as just a child herself. That changed quickly. Last year, overwhelmed by Damian’s arrival and his numerous issues, he’d confessed that the offer had come as a way to directly influence and monitor what was likely the three most powerful beings on the planet. Then he asked for her help with Damian because his child had been hidden away and forged into a weapon and she had proven beyond a doubt to be someone loving and deeply caring of the world and its people.

That was the turning point between them. Earning Bruce’s trust was next to impossible and at the time, he hadn’t known she had a weakness. As far as he was aware, she was unstoppable. So when he trusted her with his son, she’d presented him with a lead box containing green Kryptonite. She’d also told him about the other colors, but while her tolerance for green had grown after the Bond pain, she couldn’t risk getting close to the others. He’d asked to run tests and she’d agreed. There had only been one and it had lasted less two minutes. That night was also the first night they’d shared a bed.

Bruce stood and held out his hand. It was a late night (morning) for them and she’d be lucky if they got to sleep past noon. Normally she didn’t need more than a few hours or so of sleep, she just preferred it for the intimacy and mental relaxation. But with the Bond nagging her with exhaustion and phantom pains, she was almost at human norm. As she followed Bruce up the back stairs to Master suite, she mused what she could have become if she hadn’t accidently Bonded with Lex. On Krypton it would have been celebrated and considered a blessed match, but on Earth it only brought her heartbreak and constant low-level weakness and pain that grew with proximity to the man who had ‘rejected’ their Bond.

She should have died. A normal Kryptonian would have and did whenever their Bond was broken. There was no record of a rejected Bond in the Archives, a Bond indicated intense emotional and genetic compatibility, it was nonsensical and would have killed both parties. It existed in fiction, one story was almost exactly like Romeo and Juliet, but even in that realm it was incredibly rare. Luckily, her abilities under the sun were constantly fighting her body's deterioration. She’d probably have to spend some time above the ionosphere to recover from her confrontation with Lex, possibly something she’d likely have to make part of her routine if he remained in Metropolis.

Bruce’s room had once been a den of heavy darkness and silence. It was still heavily sound-proofed against the daily goings on in the house. The Manor required a day staff of more than twenty just to keep it clean along with a dozen more groundskeepers, the handful of garage workers and a chef working daily. The archival team came only a few days a week, the maintenance company once a week, and repairs were made inside and out as needed. No one was allowed in the family wing save Alfred, Mercy and Rosaline unless directly supervised but even though Alfred made every effort, sometimes there was maid vacuuming outside the door or some other noise while Bruce slept.

However, once Bruce’s room had also become hers, the heavy layers of drapes had been drawn and sunlight spilled through the windows and across the bed. She soaked up direct exposure for most of the morning, even in winter, and Bruce just wore an eye mask (she still kept her own room next door and slept there whenever Bruce was away or the few times he’d been severely injured). He was a man of few words or even none if he could avoid them, but he never stopped making gestures once you learned to recognize them.

Bruce emerged from the bathroom in his briefs, looking half asleep already. There was something painfully sweet about watching the Batman, the scourge of the Gotham underworld, getting soft with sleep. She wore shorts and a t-shirt (not just because of her Kryptonian sensibilities, but mostly due to the likelihood of having to dash out of bed and down the corridor to contain a half-Kryptonian tantrum – in stereo). They snuggled under the covers, Bruce slept almost face down but always wrapped one arm around her waist to draw her close. So she sunk into heavenly soft bedding while sunlight poured across the covers and warmed her exposed arm and feet. She was safe and snug and comfortable.

She tried, she really did. She was tired and emotionally drained and sleep nagged at her, but she still couldn’t slip under. She focused her hearing past Bruce’s thick walls and found the rhythmic rush and thrum of the twin’s hearts beating slowly in tune but she still couldn’t avoid it. She was about to slip from the bed when Bruce turned and pulled her against his broad chest. His strong arms held her tight enough to harm a human, but he didn’t seem to mind that her invulnerable body was likely bruising him, he only pressed his cheek against her hair and whispered, “It’s alright.”

That was all it took. She wept and shook and raged against the unfairness of the universe. She cried for her children who might never know the man that should have been their father, she cried for her Lex who was devastated by learning he was sterile because he wanted the unconditional love of a family so much, but mostly she cried for herself. She loved Bruce and trusted him not only with her life but with the lives of her children and the Kryptonian Archive. But even with all of that, she would never stop loving Lex. She loved him every minute of every day; she saw him in their children, in her dreams, every time she closed her eyes. She still wanted him and even more: she wanted him to want her. Bruce may be furious over Lex’s attempt to manipulate her with red Kryptonite, essentially a date rape drug in his mind, but she would have welcomed it. She still wanted it, it would have freed her to tell him everything that she had kept locked away for so many years. And she cried for that as well, because she couldn’t have it.

When she’d finally exhausted her tears, Bruce wiped her face with the edge of the sheets and kissed her brow. But she only felt tired, no relief. “It’s not over,” she mumbled into his chest.

“It’s never going to be over,” he replied, resigned.

It was true. She would be connected to Lex until the day he died. That day was likely to also be the day of her own death. Knowing she was pregnant had given her the strength to fight the pain of Lex’s ‘death’ in the plane crash, but she’d spent those months suspended in a beam of concentrated solar radiation comparable to Sol’s corona. The mother-child Bond had revived her some after she gave birth, and again she was desperate because the twin’s biology meant that they needed both her unique milk and the kind of radiation exposure only available in the Archive. Rosaline had done most of the physical work for those first months, Claire was either feeding or sleeping in her beam. It was only after Lex returned from the ‘dead’ that the real reason for her survival became apparent. The tiny thread that still connected them had allowed her to fight for life. Lex’s true death would come someday, when his extraordinary luck finally ran out, and she only hoped for her children it wouldn’t be soon.

“Why can’t I let Jor-El deal with them?” Jor-El had been listening from his place inside her ship. He knew about Lex, about their Bond, and the pregnancy. When Lex’s death ended any chance of reconciliation, he’d activated the ship and led Claire’s dying body (her mind had already shut down) to the Arctic where the Archive could be grown from the Seed sent along in her ship.

Once she’d gained enough strength to consider leaving the Archive after nearly two years, Jor-El had once again explained his decision to kill Lionel and ‘acquire’ Lex in order to explain his place as her Consort and Bondmate. Technically, by Kryptonian standards, his logic was sound. It would have made the world a safer place for her children and given them a powerful protector. But she’d been raised human and morally, it was wrong. They argued about it fiercely (He’d been the one to send her to Earth so human morals had to factor into his plan and you didn’t kill and kidnap the other side of your children’s family!). Eventually she’d found and reprogramed the right cluster of crystals which finally allowed her to override Jor-El regardless of previously set hardline commands. She’d prohibited him from killing humans, changed the House of El into the protectors of Earth and humanity rather than its possessors and conquerors, and set him to find her someone who could teach her to protect her family.

He’d found her Bruce Wayne, or rather Batman, who she’d thought was a myth. She’d torn herself away from her babies to go make introductions and the rest was history. Or it should have been, if not for her stupid biology linking her for life to a man who’d abandoned her. God, she hoped the twins never inherited that particular Kryptonian trait. Let them love each other exclusively and never take human lovers, she didn’t care. Anything to save them this pain.

Bruce knew exactly what she was talking about. He’d been to the Archive twice now, once during a life threatening injury and the second time as a guest. Jor-El had referred to Batman as a ‘Champion’ of the House of El and attempted to recruit him to his side, but of course Bruce had agreed with her. His grip lessened, but he still held her close, “Because you value human life and free will more than most humans. And because one day you’ll have to look into your children’s eyes and justify your actions.”

There was truth for both of them in the last part. Talia belonged to an ancient sect of warriors that lived and died by the sword, even today. She’d committed atrocities alongside her disciples, killed her own father and credibly threatened the whole of Gotham in the past. Bruce had never volunteered what he had done to secure Damian’s place with them, he’d been closed off enough for her to know not to ask, but Damian would know one day. The twins would deserve an answer no matter what path she chose. Would her children forgive her for keeping them from their father because she was too afraid to trust again; too terrified of an old man in his glass tower when they had the power of gods? Would they understand what she had sacrificed?

They fell asleep like that, secure in each other’s arms, at least for a few hours.

**⫷( _R_ )⫸**

It took two weeks but Damian Wayne finally convinced his science tutor to take him to the museum. He’d purposely chosen a limited engagement lecture on a day when Pennyworth would be occupied with the re-opening of the Manor’s grand library; which was to be cataloged and scanned for study and preservation. A worthy endeavor, one proposed by Claire at dinner one night some months ago and now finally being enacted.

Damian liked Claire a great deal. From his discussions with Rosaline, who was programmed with the history of Claire’s bloodline and much of her home plane's history, Claire’s blood was even richer than his own. She was born to be a Princess above all others, her family had ruled for hundreds of generations and they had possessed and influenced Earth and humans during that time. Even if she had not been born a noble, she had a noble’s bearing and a warrior’s heart. He’d been told things by his mother that had made him hate her on sight, but those facts proved to be untrue or distorted. That she had welcomed him, another woman’s son of her lover, and made him an equal among her own children proved her to be generous in ways he had not known existed. That she did all this and also fought with great skill and honor alongside his father earned her and her children his loyalty.

And so while the young tutor chattered excitedly about something, Damian sat in the back of the car that Mercy drove in Pennyworth’s stead. He rarely required her presence, she was more valuable as the vanguard protecting the twins, but Claire’s health required that she reduce her duties and so she remained at the Manor today. The twins had no better protector and he would require Mercy’s assistance to succeed.

The Gotham City Natural History Museum was surprisingly impressive. Damian regretted that he would not be attending the tour and lecture, but he had a mission. As they neared the entrance to the lecture hall, Damian caught Mercy’s eye and signaled her with a tap of his finger against his thigh. Mercy had been taught his father’s secret signals so when he requested to use the washroom, Mercy volunteered to take him. The tutor was sent ahead to secure their seats.

Near the restrooms, in a quiet corner, Mercy asked, “What’s up?”

Mercy had been a seasoned warrior before her new life. He was unaware of the details but some event had damaged Mercy’s significantly. She’d been offered not only the chance to whole again but to be more than human, in exchange for a vow to serve the House of El until her death or the Els no longer existed. She’d given that vow and Kryptonian technology had healed her. The honor of her vow and her great prowess as a warrior (she frequently sparred with his father as an equal) granted her the right to speak to him so informally, “I wish you to take me to Metropolis, to the LuthorCorp Tower.”

She smacked her gum, a disgusting habit, “Why?”

“I intend to confront Lex Luthor for his dishonor. You need not accompany me, only provide me transportation.” He was armed, he lacked his shamshir but instead carried short, easily concealed blades that would not activate metal detectors. He had a plan, the man would not escape judgement.

Mercy narrowed her eyes, “You know she could be listening to us right now.”

“I deactivated all but the tutor’s trackers before our departure, including the vehicle. She is ill and the twins have agreed to occupy her for the duration,” Eleanor and William were intelligent and loyal. He’d merely requested assistance and they had agreed without question. He regretted that they would not know their biological father, but he had proved unworthy beyond his part in their creation. His own father was superior in every way and cared for them deeply, they would not lack.

Mercy continued to regard him. Unlike Rosaline, her mind had been left largely intact by the reconstruction process and therefor she retained greater autonomy. Almost immediately upon his arrival, Mercy’s duties to Claire and the twins had been expanded to include himself. At first he had been insulted. But then he had come to understand her skill and later the honor he had been granted. After a minute’s consideration, she asked, “Are you going to kill him?”

“No.” Unfortunately.

That intrigued Mercy, her normally expressionless face was broken by a raised brow. Of the three servants that were privy to his family’s most guarded secrets, Mercy was the most protective of Claire. She had dealt death in her former life and knew that some threats could not be neutralized, they must be destroyed. He had read the file on his father’s computer: Lex Luthor was not an enemy that would withdraw. His knowledge of Claire and the twin’s weakness to Kryptonite represented the greatest threat to his family, even above that of his mother and the League. His presence alone indicated intent and a challenge must be met. “Will you help me?”

She chuckled, shaking her head, “Sure, kid. Let’s do this. But when we get caught, it’s all on you.”

“Of course,” he expected no less.

The departure from the museum and drive through the tunnel to Metropolis proceeded without incident. They parked near the tower and Damian shrugged into his hoodie and adopted the posture of a bored child. Being underestimated by your enemies was key in any battle. Mercy made to follow him, her clothes were equally casual, but he reminded her, “You need not follow. I can accomplish this alone.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’d still like to keep my head when all this is over. If you don’t mind,” She led across the vast concrete Plaza, Damian hung back despite the fact that he felt the fire of conflict kindling in his gut.

The LuthorCorp lobby was almost entirely glass and glossy concrete with a vast tangle of tubes hanging from the high ceiling. Damian had been educated in art but the post-modern movement eluded him. For being the crown jewel of a vast empire, he found it barren and cold. His father’s headquarters was of carved stone and intricately laid woods with gold accents and delicately formed glass lighting. A new selection of local artists was exhibited every month, something Damian had taken for granted. As he reached the desk, he could count the number of works displayed on one hand, including the… chandelier.

The woman looked to Mercy, but Damian spoke, “My name is Damian Wayne. Lex Luthor wishes to speak with me.” She looked perplexed and then her face became pinched as she reached for the phone.

Mercy’s hand shot out and gripped the woman’s arm, “You want to google him before you make that call. Trust me.”

Damian ceased to pay attention to the two women, instead subtlety observing the rest of the lobby. Security was just as his father’s notes described. There was only a single security check point between him and the wall of steel-fronted elevators. Multi-directional cameras provided a modest coverage but their storage system was electronic. A mistake that Damian intended to exploit. His target resided at the pinnacle of the tower, but he knew such men were unlikely to be abed at this hour (though the thought of finding him there after bypassing such paltry measures pleased him).

Something caught one of the guard’s attention and Damian found the phone-woman waving him over. He straightened, but Mercy leaned on the counter unconcerned. “These are Mr. Luthor’s guests. The younger. He’s receiving them in the Penthouse.” Phone-woman offered more words to Mercy but Damian was eager. He strode towards the elevators.

“This way, sir,” the guard led him away from the checkpoint towards another desk of which a man stood behind. This person was both armed and competent, Damian made sure to offer his blandest expression as the man examined them with a practiced eye. Mercy was scanned for weapons and she surrendered a Berretta from under her jacket. He knew his father prohibited such weapons so he could only assume she had carried it from the car in order to enforce the role of bodyguard. It was an excellent way to draw focus to the danger of the weapon and away from the woman who was one herself. He would remember such misdirection for the future.

As for himself, they waved him through and ushered into the elevator alongside Mercy without a concern. He was somewhat disappointed despite the fact that it served his purposes. This elevator was faced with something intended to resemble gold and the interior was unnecessarily luxurious. Was the Elder Luthor so fragile that he could not stand long enough to reach his office and must instead lounge on a couch while the elevator ascended?

The numbers on the elevator flicked by rapidly, but Damian had time to reach inside his collar, pull his necklace loose and fidget with its pendant listlessly. It was a seemingly unremarkable clear white crystal wrapped in gold wire and capped with a small green stone; similar designs had been made for at least the last several decades. He caught Mercy’s widened eyes in the mirrored wall. She knew now what he intended and trusted her to act accordingly. He left the necklace loose atop his hoodie.

The elevator reached its destination smoothly and opened onto more glass and stone, though there was a great deal more art. It was again of the kind of contemporary style that he did not prefer, but at least it was present. Art requires significant time and effort; the wealthy had a mandate to become patrons at all levels in order to forward culture. Last year, Damian himself had been allowed to choose a young artist and her oil paintings of Gotham’s poor and down trodden not only brought a kind of sad beauty into the world, they also drew attention to the causes his family championed.

Lex Luthor arrived moments after they stepped into the foyer. He was classically dressed in the uniform of his station: a starched shirt and sharply creased trousers, though the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. He was a picture of a man relaxed and comfortable in his home. Perfect.

“Young Mr. Wayne, I was surprised to hear of your arrival. We don’t have an appointment.” The man managed to be both concerned and condescending. “And who is this?”

Damian had taken great pains to master this dance of words and its subtle display of power, “My bodyguard, Mercy. Please ignore her, my father insists on her presence whenever I leave the confines of the Manor.” He shrugged, as if ignorant of the dangers to normal citizens, especially in Gotham.

“I see. Please come in. You’ve come all this way, would you like something to drink? I believe I have some soda or juice.” Lex gestured him forward and he felt Mercy fall into step behind him. It was a shame he wouldn’t need his blades, but his father had stressed the effectiveness of subtlety and it seemed in this case it would be more than enough.

The walk was not a short one, as they passed a third large room, Luthor asked, “Speaking of your father, does he know that you are here?”

Damian waited until they had passed another room and saw the bright stainless steel of a kitchen, “No. He’s decided upon a state of conciliation regarding yourself. I believe he intends to stay uninvolved as long as you remain outside of Gotham.”

“Is that so?” The man seemed amused. He paused and turned at the threshold, “And yet you are here. Why is that?”

Damian demurred, he needed the man closer. The confines of the kitchen would serve him well, “I find the current state of affairs unsatisfactory. I would like to discuss them with you.” The man’s brows raised incredulously. Damian seemed to have derailed his current errand, “I’d like a water, please.”

“Of course,” Luthor moved into the kitchen and Damian followed with Mercy on his heels.

These were likely the man’s last moments. He knew Luthor was unaware of his status regarding the twins’ and father’s secret was undoubtedly secure. Damian suddenly found he was curious if the man had any idea at all as to the power of the enemies he had set himself against, “Are you aware of who my mother is?”

Luthor pulled two blue bottles from a low appliance and turned. He paused to study Damian’s face. There was little of Talia in his appearance, his eyes and slightly finer feature were the only difference from his father. He had seen the pictures.

“I’m afraid not. Should I?” The bottle was extended.

Damian gripped the cold glass and smiled in a way that he’d avoided in recent years, “Talia al Ghul.”

There was just enough time for Luthor’s eyes to widen in recognition, his mouth falling open, before Damian seized the moment. He dropped the bottle and lunged forward, the man’s instincts were quicker than he anticipated but not nearly fast enough to keep him from seizing his wrist while his other hand gripped the pendant in a much practiced move. He waited a fraction of a second to register the painfully tight grip of Mercy at his shoulder and then cracked the green stone under his thumb. The crystal activated in a blinding light and the three disappeared.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the meaning of Roxana. It's not quite as epic as some interpretations of Alexander and Hephestion, but the general consensus is that Alexander the Great loved his first wife, Roxana, above all other women, including two other wives and hundreds of concubines. She was pretty badass too.


End file.
